The 40th Annual Hunger Games
by Yitz
Summary: Maybe you've heard of Linka Nolan before. She was District 10's second winner ever, as one of their tributes in the 40th Hunger Games. Don't you remember? I'll remind you of the story...
1. Chapter 1

I live in a place called District 10. It's not a country or a city, it's just a big piece of land that starts in one spot and ends in another. There are 11 other ones; 11 other lives I could be leading. As my mother likes to say, "Things could always be worse." I suppose that's true - certainly I could have been born into District 11 or 12. Everyone knows they're the most impoverished, and I've seen their tributes. They're scrawny little things, frail bodies wielding weapons like soldiers. I wish I could say it's strange to me, but I've been watching the Hunger Games since I was 3; that's been 13 years of seeing teenagers killing each other on live television. There is always some part of my mind that knows it's horrible and disgusting, but it's not as if my own revulsion is going to make any difference. So I sit and I stare. And, I have to admit, I feel a bizarre draw to the program. I feel compelled to watch the action unfold, to see if one of our district's tributes will prevail this year. It has only happened once, but that does prove it's possible.

District 10 is a poor one - a very poor one - but one supposed advantage we have is a low population. I suppose it is beneficial in a sense; I can't imagine the land being more densely inhabited. Technically speaking, there is plenty of room for more homes if need be, but the Capitol has no desire for our District to grow in number, at least not in terms of humans. Our land is dedicated to animal pasturing, raising the livestock that will provide milk, eggs, butter and ultimately meat. Not for us, of course; these products are owed to the Capitol. But I know my fair share of workers who consistently break that rule. My parents are among them. We raise chickens, and we eat a lot of eggs.

I wish I could say that this has been sufficient to spare me from taking out tessera, but that's not the case. It's nothing to be embarrassed about, as nearly every other kid I know does it too, though it's dangerous in its complicated way. I was often thankful that I didn't have a younger sibling who could be taken away for the Games, though I never really thought much about my own increased chances.

Reaping Day is the worst day of the year, the day when there's not a single smiling face to be seen. My feelings about it are the same as they always have been: I am afraid, but in a dull sort of way. I suppose the fear is softened by some lingering belief that I will never be chosen. Where does it come from? My comfort in the routine of my life, maybe, or my inability to imagine a reality where I become District 10's female tribute for the year.

As I stand in the crowd with my peers, I look at the stage and see faces I recognize. There's Mayor Holt with her graying hair and tired eyes, gazing at the people of her district, wondering who she'll have to send off to be killed. Next to her is Perrin Marks, the single winner from our district - so far. He's handsome in a way, though he seems to invariably wear an expression of discomfort. The third person onstage is unquestionably from the Capitol: it's our district's escort, Valeria Manderbell. She's the only one here with purple hair, though that's nothing compared to her fluffy, electric blue dress. All the potential tributes have dressed in our "nice" clothes - in other words, our least stained, but most everyone else has given up on trying to look nice. Valeria doesn't seem to mind. She sits back with her arms and legs crossed a Mayor Holt makes her speech.

"The Hunger Games are a tradition with a great legacy," the mayor says. She uses this exact same speech every year; we could all say it along with her, practically. "Years before we had our wonderful home of Panem, this land was a place rife with troubles. Disorder and chaos were rampant. And then there were the natural disasters, the uncontrollable forces that transformed the land both physically and on a societal level. So we reformed. We rethought. We rebuilt. We created Panem, a new nation to progress where the last one had failed. Confusion would be eclipsed by structure, which came in the form of 13 districts and a Capitol to oversee them all. But the districts were ungrateful, and they rebelled. These were the Dark Days, when our country seemed almost on the brink of collapse. Thankfully, the Capitol succeeded in restoring order, despite the loss of District 13. To pay our respects, we signed a treaty with the Capitol, promising that such a rebellion would never occur again. We also agreed to participate in a yearly Hunger Games. Today marks the 40th occasion we will be offering two tributes to represent us in the Games." Mayor Holt clears her throat and glances at Perrin. "Let's take this time to honor District 10's first winner of the Hunger Games, Mr. Perrin Marks."

We clap, and it's at least mostly genuine. It's not Perrin's fault we have to do this. Not to mention that when he won, our district received a year of prizes from the Capitol; these were mostly food supplements, which the majority of our district's citizens needed very much. I wonder how many kids were saved from taking out tesserae because of those prizes. Perrin barely acknowledges our applause - the only thing I see him do is nod slightly, but he says nothing. He has never spoken at Reaping Day, though he's mandated to always appear.

Valeria takes over from there. She waltzes up to the microphone and grasps it; I notice her fingernails are painted with something sparkly. "Yes, well, this is very exciting. You should all aspire to be the next Perrin Marks." She smiles, and it's hard to tell whether it's sincere or not. I find Valeria strange, even for someone from the Capitol. This is only her second year as our escort; before her there was a giddy old man named Aelius Something-son. He was always incredibly excited about the Games, and was also a little overly affectionate; I remember him hugging everyone - Mayor Holt, Perrin, and the tributes. They never told us why he was replaced with Valeria; maybe the Capitol citizens didn't like his touchy-feely approach. If that's the case, then Valeria makes sense as his successor. She is distant and businesslike, quite different from Aelius. "So, happy Hunger Games to you all. May the odds be ever in your favor."

Aelius used to make a little speech of his own about how great District 10 is and how happy he is to be our escort, which would inevitably end up being amusing in its absurdity. He'd say how he felt at home here with the pigs and the chickens and the cows grazing in the wide-open fields. Meanwhile, all of us in the audience knew that Aelius' home was nothing like this; he lived in the Capitol. He would never have to worry about having enough food to survive the week, or whether this would be the year that his children would be taken away and killed.

Thankfully, Valeria does not make this sort of speech. In fact, she doesn't say anything else, except for, "Well, here we go." She walks up to the two glass balls that hold the names of everyone in District 10 who is eligible to be a tribute this year. "Boy or girl first?" Valeria asks, more to herself than anyone else, but loud enough for us to hear. She shrugs and plunges her hand into one bowl, pulling out a slip of paper. She peers at it as she walks back to the microphone. "OK, boys first," Valeria announces.

My nerves are calmed. Just for a moment.

"Mint Henley," she says.

I rack my mind. Do I know this boy? Surely I'd remember someone named Mint. I glance at him as he walks up to the stage: he looks one or two years younger than me, and he's far less well-fed. His hair is brown and tangly, his eyes are gray, and he looks like he's going to throw up. I wonder if someone will volunteer to take Mint's place, but I have never seen it happen, and it doesn't happen this year. Valeria gives him a look as Mint takes his place onstage next to her. "Hmm," she says, not sounding very impressed.

"Good luck, Mint!" A masculine voice yells from the crowd.

"Was that your father?" Valeria asks.

"Yes, ma'am," he answers.

Valeria opens her mouth, then closes it. She thinks for a minute, and then says, finally, "Very sweet." She smiles and then tosses some of her violet locks behind a shoulder. "OK, onto the girl, now." Valeria walks back to the glass bowls and reaches into the other one.

I wonder who it will be. I hope it's not Eloise, that nice girl from the neighboring farm. And it had better not be Mel's younger sister; I don't know if I could bear watching another 12-year-old get picked for the games.

"Linka Nolan," Valeria reads.

That's me. That's my name. And as Valeria says it, I can feel eyes turning at me, people looking at me with expressions of pity. They know I am going to die, that our community has lost another daughter. I am not sure what I'm feeling, as I hear my own death sentence. I don't even bother to imagine that someone might volunteer for me. I will myself to swallow my fear and look straight ahead.

"Come on up," Valeria instructs me.

Someone pats my back, and I'm no longer frozen. I stare up at the stage, and put one foot in front of the other. Soon I find myself by Valeria's side, looking down at my fellow citizens of District 10. Not many look back up at me, because they don't want to see Mint and me, their two sacrifices. Instead they glance at one another, or down at the ground, looking weary and apologetic. I know most of these people have no tears to cry for me. But I can see my mother and father in the distance, and I don't have to look close to see that they're sobbing. I want to tell them that it will be OK, but what could possibly be OK about the assured death of their only child? I try to find Eloise in the crowd, but I don't see her. Has she left already?

Valeria instructs us to sit down with her, and we do, while Mayor Holt reads the text of the Treaty of Treason to the audience. They don't want to hear it; nobody does. I can feel Mint's eyes on me, and I return his gaze, but he doesn't look away. His eyes are bloodshot and teary, and I instinctively bring my fingers up to my own eyes and find they are wet, too. I want to scream, run away, be anywhere in the world beside on this stage with Mint Henley. But I'm not that stupid. I know all of this is being filmed and televised live in the Capitol, and the reputation I have with them can greatly affect what happens to me in the Games. So I don't cry. I grit my teeth and smile at the camera, swallowing the lump in my throat. I can cry later, when I'm not being watched. That will be fine. I can wait until then, I know it. Mint can cry on camera all he wants; it doesn't matter. He can be weak.

But I will try to make my District proud.


	2. Chapter 2

The national anthem is being played, and that means that it's time to go. The Peacekeepers hurry Mint and me into the Justice Building, a place I've only ever seen the outside of. It is tall, made of silvery bricks, and is sturdy looking - it bears no resemblance to the farmhouses where I and most of my friends reside. Immediately, Mint and I are separated and led in different directions. The two Peacekeepers with me stop us beside the door to a room; they open it, and then direct me inside.

It is a small room, but beautifully decorated, with brightly colored wallpaper and pictures of people I don't recognize hanging on the walls. As for furniture, there is a large sofa and one other chair. I want to ask which is intended for me, but the Peacekeepers have gone, so I just sit down in the middle of the sofa. Now is the time when people can come in to say their last goodbyes to me. Because I'm going to the Hunger Games. Because I'm going to die.

When my parents show up, I cry. They hold me for a long time, and I cry, and they just tell me they love me. There's nothing else for them to do. They can't save me or protect me. And when there's a knock at the door and a Peacekeeper announces it's time for my parents to leave, they have to. Then I lie down on the couch and hug my knees to my chest, wondering how long I can stay this way.

"Hi, Linka," someone says.

I have another visitor? Looking up, I see it's my friend Eloise. So she didn't leave after all. She comes and sits in the chair and looks at me morosely, as if I'm already a corpse. "You're... you're a good person," she says. Her tone is labored; perhaps she's struggling to keep herself composed, or struggling to find the right words to say. "You didn't deserve this," Eloise tells me. "This is..." she looks down at the floor and her sentence trails off. "I'm sorry," she says finally.

My first instinct is to say "It's alright" - that would be my usual response to an apology. But I can't possibly trick myself into believing that there's anything alright about being a tribute. So instead I just look at Eloise and force another painful smile. "Thank you for coming," I tell her. It's the best thing I can think of now.

Eloise gets up to leave, but before she exits the room she turns around and glances back at me. "Remember," she advises me. "The three most important things."

I blink. "What things?"

"Water, shelter, food. In that order."

I was not expecting this, especially not from Eloise of all people. Still, I'm in no position to pass up any counsel, even from an unlikely source. "Thank you," I say. "I will try to remember."

"Good." And then Eloise leaves.

Valeria pokes her head into the room. "Are you done in here? We have things to do."

Her insensitivity is startling. I don't even know what to say. "Um," I try.

"OK, let's get moving." Valeria beckons me, and I robotically follow her out of the room and down the hall, where Mint is already waiting for us. His face is red and blotchy; he must have been crying a lot, too. I remember my promise to myself that I would appear strong, and I wipe my face and massage my cheeks to try to hide any evidence of my own tears.

We get to the station, where we will board a train that will take us to the Capitol. I've heard that the scientists in District 6 are working on one that will go even faster - "250 miles an hour," apparently, though these words mean little to me. In any case, I don't have much interest in getting to the Capitol any faster than necessary. Outside the station, there are some reporters who are eager to photograph Mint and me as we get on the train. Mint attempts to hide his face, whereas I try to act as if the cameras aren't there. Valeria seems to want to do the same thing. "Honestly, do we _really _need another delay?" she asks in irritation. She only relaxes when we finally get in the train.

I take a look around the interior of this vehicle: it's beautifully decorated like the Justice Building was, and I have my own room. It has a large bed and its own bathroom, too, which is bigger than my bedroom at home is... was. There's also a set of drawers filled with clothing, and I guess I'm supposed to change into something nicer. The only direction Valeria has given me is to be in the dining car in 45 minutes, which I guess should be easy enough to do. I glance down at the clothes I've been wearing: a white blouse and a gray skirt. Both only have a few stains, but now they've been sweated and cried on. So I take them off and change into the first thing I see that looks like it will fit me: a pale blue dress. It's soft, but it shows more than I'm used to. To compensate, I put on a cardigan sweater, which sort of helps.

My head aches from crying and from holding in tears, and I feel a need to lie down. As I recline on the bed, I wonder what the mattress is filled with. Mine at home is a combination of rags and goose feathers, and I feel lucky to have it, but this one is even softer. Before I know what's happened, a train attendant is in my doorway, alerting me that I need to head for the dining car. I pull myself up, realizing I've fallen asleep. My head no longer hurts, at least. I get out of bed and follow the attendant to the next car.

There's a table with four seats: three are occupied, by Valeria, Mint, and Perrin. Valeria is holding a glass with a bubbly liquid in it. "Oh," she says when I arrive. "There you are. I thought you'd gone comatose or something. You really do need to make a greater effort for punctuality."

I just stare at her.

"Have a seat," Valeria instructs me, and I sit down in the remaining empty chair.

Then the meal begins. I am half expecting a traditional District 10 dinner, but whoever planned the menu must have been deliberately avoiding that, because nothing we're served is even close to customary. We start off with a plate of fruit cut into intricate designs; there are bananas, pineapples, and something Valeria says is called a "papaya." I don't even know where these fruits grow. Next comes the main course: it's fish, which is rarely if ever consumed in District 10. The flavor is pungent and foreign, but I eat every bite of it. After that, we're served something I can't even identify - a plate of small brick-shaped things in many different colors. I watch the way Valeria eats them: she uses her spoon and breaks them in half, then eats the halves one at a time. I follow her and find that each color corresponds to a flavor, while the texture is soft and gummy.

"These are great," I surprise myself by saying.

"They're called _Turkish delight_," Valeria informs us. "They're an ancient delicacy."

After we're finished with the meal, my stomach is entirely filled, and I start to feel intermittent pangs of pain and nausea. Valeria marches us off to a different train car, where a television has been set up. When the video starts playing, I realize that what we're about to watch is a film of the reapings in other districts. I look at the other kids, people who I might kill or might kill me. Some of them look vicious - these are the tributes known as "Careers," those born in Districts 1 and 2, though those in 2 have a reputation for being especially brutal. As we watch the video, certain tributes stand out for one reason or another: the girl from 1 has strange, snakelike eyes. The girl from 4 has tawny skin and wears her hair in pigtails. The boy from 8 reminds me of Mint; he is gaunt and looks self-conscious. When my district is shown, it's not exactly thrilling: the commentators compliment my posture. "Linka Nolan looks ready to fight," one of them observes. I know he is wrong, but the remark strikes something in me, a little seed of confidence, perhaps.

As expected, District 12 is shown last. The tributes look the way I always envision District 12 citizens to appear: emaciated, olive-skinned, afraid. Their district has not had any winners.

After the video ends, the national anthem starts playing, but Valeria turns the television off in the middle. "No need to hear that again," she mutters as the TV screen retracts into the ceiling. "Well, I'd advise getting to bed now. There's a lot to do tomorrow, so you'll want to be rested."

Valeria leaves, but none of us move. I look at Perrin, but he's still staring at the wall where the television was. So I glance at Mint, who returns my gaze. "Hi," I feel compelled to say.

"Hello," Mint replies in a small voice.

Perrin slowly looks at us, and his face turns sad. "Poor children," he mumbles.

I don't know what could possibly be the appropriate response for that, so I address Mint again. "How are you?" I ask, following my standard script when meeting someone new.

"I'm OK... you know, as OK as I could be." He smiles a little. "What did you think of the other tributes?"

"Did you see that girl from 1?" I ask. "Her eyes were like slits."

"Oh, yeah, I noticed that! Creepy. And how about the boy from 7? He's so muscular he looks like a walking cloud!"

I chuckle at that, and then Mint and I are laughing together, and it feels good. I'm grateful for this light moment in the midst of such a dark time.

"At least there were no 12 year olds this year," I say, trying to think of some positive thing.

"Yeah," Mint says solemnly. "At least."

There doesn't seem to be anything else more to say, and Perrin certainly isn't talking, so we both head for bed. I guess it's due to my nap before dinner, or maybe my persistent fear, but I can't fall asleep easily. I lie in the comfortable bed and stare at the ceiling, feeling the motion beneath me as the train brings me closer and closer to the Capitol. I try to push my mind into other subjects, but my thoughts always return to the imminent Games; my imminent death. I suppose I should try to prepare myself in some way. I've said goodbye to the people who matter to me the most, my parents, and to the person I suppose I ought to count as my best friend, Eloise. What do I do now?

I shuffle about in the bed and end up lying on my side, staring at the bureau. I wish there were a bookcase here, or at least some artwork - something that would offer some sort of distraction from reality. I want to retreat into my imagination, but all my mind produces are different configurations of how my own death might play out. I could go quickly: an acute head injury, maybe. Or I could go slowly; dying of hunger is a real and horrifying possibility. I've seen it happen before in the Games a couple of years back, where the arena was an enormous labyrinth. The tributes ran desperately trying to find the cornucopia, and a few were lucky enough to stumble upon the caches of food and water that had been stashed in various places. As much as the Capitol citizens enjoy watching bloody combat, they seemed to be plenty entertained by watching tributes become terrorized and deranged.

I wonder what the arena will be like this year. Being from District 10 does not offer any particular benefits, so I'm not hoping for anything in particular. One thing I do know is that I will have to rely mostly on my wits, and unfortunately, they are not infallible.


	3. Chapter 3

I wake up myself for breakfast the next day. I'm not feeling great - it took me a long time to fall asleep last night, and the rocking of the train woke me up a few times. I'm used to being awoken by a rooster as the sun is starting to come up, but this time when I open my eyes, the sky is already entirely light. I choose an outfit dispassionately, grabbing a red shirt and blue pants. We didn't tend to wear much color at home, because as my father explained it to me, our clothes are designed for durability, not glamour. I remember finding this funny, the very notion that anything about District 10 could be glamorous. Even the wealthiest among us merely have larger plots of land, more animals, more food. I've heard that some of the mayors in other districts reside in big, elegant houses and even have servants, but that's just a rumor. Mayor Holt may not have to raise animals to make a living, but she works as hard as anyone else.

I make my way back to the dining car, where I'm surprised to find only Valeria. There's a mug of steaming in front of her, and it gives off a smell like earth, only sweet.

"What's that?" I ask.

Valeria looks up from whatever she was reading, only then realizing I'm there. "This is an herbal tea," she explains. "I don't like to eat in the morning, so for breakfast I usually just drink tea or coffee. Tea is a little easier on my stomach." She takes a big breath and then lets it out tiredly. "Yesterday you were late and today you're early. That's funny."

What's really funny is Valeria's outfit: she's wearing a gold turtleneck top and about six bracelets on each wrist. Along with that, she has on a long flowing skirt with a strange red and orange pattern on it. But I don't comment on it. I just smile at her and say, "Well, I'm trying to be more punctual."

"I see," she replies. "Fine."

I sit down in the same seat that I took the previous evening, and look down at the table. I ascertain that they're waiting for Mint and Perrin to get here before they serve the meal, but there's already a filled mug and glass before me. I pick up the mug and smell it - this is definitely not the tea Valeria is drinking, but something heavier with strong scent.

"That's coffee," Valeria informs me. "You might not like it if you've never had it before."

I take an experimental sip: the liquid is bitter, though it also has a richness that I enjoy. I know I have heard my parents made reference to coffee before, but if they ever drank it, I wasn't around. I put the mug down and lift the glass, which I then see is filled with milk. At last, something familiar. I take a long drink and deduce that this is the nicer kind of milk with a lot of cream in it. Only the best for the Capitol.

I've drunk all the milk and half of the coffee by the time Perrin walks in. He doesn't say anything to Valeria or me, but just sits down and stares into space. I'm still unsure about him; after that strange moment last night when he called Mint and me "poor children," I know he's not totally mute, but he still hasn't said another word. Perrin Marks is supposed to be our mentor, seeing as he managed to win the Games, but he seems to mostly live in his own mind now. Well, it's not like I really had a chance, anyway.

It's Mint's turn to be late today. He looks alright. I guess his body is reacting well to finally being sufficiently fed. Valeria gives him the same one-sentence lecture she gave me about the importance of arriving on time. Mint apologizes, and then the meal is served.

There are more foods I recognize this time. There's a huge plate of bacon, which I've only had once or twice before. It's one of the Capitol's favorites, so it's not exactly easy to keep it in our district. There's also a platter of delicious-smelling bread, but it's sort of strange. It's very light and fluffy, almost puffy in a way. The bread from home is made with milk and eggs, and occasionally butter if we happen to have any, so the end product is pretty dense. When my mom baked, she used the grain from my tessera, but I know of some families that would repurpose the stuff meant for animal feed.

"Perrin," Valeria says out of nowhere. "Why don't you give our tributes some advice for the Games?"

Perrin blinks. "Games..." he murmurs. "These aren't games. It's murder. Brutal fucking murder!"

Mint and I glance at each other, astonished. Not only did Perrin speak, but he raised his voice. And swore. It sort of excites me in a way - now I know there is still some spark in him. Maybe he can help us after all.

Valeria doesn't look impressed. She leans back in her chair and crosses her arms. "Are you quite finished with dramatics, Mr. Marks?"

Perrin looks down at the table, his face red with embarrassment. "Yes," he says softly. "I am." He swallows. "I'm sorry."

"Yes, well, try to stick to doing your job."

After we're finished eating, Valeria announces that we'll be arriving in the Capitol that evening. I'm not looking forward to spending the rest of the day onboard the train, and Valeria doesn't sound exactly pleased about it. No wonder they're trying to create a vehicle that moves faster. The people of the Capitol want us there as soon as possible so they can start showing us off and then watch us die one by one. "What should we do the rest of the day?" I ask her.

"Whatever you'd like," Valeria answers. "We won't be having a formal lunch, but there will be plenty to choose from in here, so feel free to stop by whenever you're hungry."

This is a strange concept to me. Whenever I'm hungry, an enormous supply of delicious and motley foods will be available to me. I'm more used to being served a tiny portion and eating the same thing several nights a week. Within District 10, my family is considered middle-class; in 2 we'd be considered poverty, but in 12 we'd be looked upon as fairly privileged. I suppose perspective is important in all things - to Capitol citizens, the feasts that Mint and I have been eating on this train probably don't seem like anything extraordinary. But to me it is. So when I say "Thanks" to Valeria, it's sincere.

She leans in close to me and, in a low voice, tells me, "Try to get Perrin to show you and Mint a thing or two. He's not as dumb as he acts, just be gentle with him."

"I'll try."

Valeria nods, then gets up and leaves.

When she's gone, Mint asks, "What did she say to you?"

"She said that we can learn a lot from Perrin," I answer. OK, so I've embellished her words a little... or a lot. But Valeria did tell me to be gentle, so why not be nice as well? "Because he can help us out a lot."

Mint gives me a perplexed look and then glances at Perrin. "You think...?"

"Sure," I smile hopefully at Perrin. He looks back at me, his expression gloomy. But finally he smiles back.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I'm just... it's been difficult." Perrin looks away from me and stares down into his lap, and I'm afraid he's going to clam up again, but he continues talking. "When I first won the Games, I was happy. I was our District's first winner, and our ticket to extra food for a whole year. I got to move out of that old farmhouse and into Victors' Village, and things seemed so good... but then the nightmares came. You can't just forget seeing so much death. And then that was all I saw."

Mint just stares at Perrin, but I want to keep him talking. "What did you do?" I ask. "What did you do to make it go away?"

He looks at me, and his face is sad again. "I waited. I thought about getting married, having a child, but I couldn't bring myself to do anything but wait. There were many days I didn't leave my bed."

Mint frowns. "Good thing you had plenty of money so you could just lie around and not work like the rest of us."

I'm taken aback. "That's not fair, Mint-" I start to say.

"It is!" he cuts me off angrily. "It is fair, because everyone in District 10 has to work their hands off just to make it. Especially in my neighborhood. And you know, it's just my father and me. Now I'm going to die and he'll have lost a wife and a child." His face is red and he's breathing hard.

I can tell that Mint is on the verge of crying, and I'm trying to think of what I should do, when Perrin steps in. He places his hand on Mint's shoulder, and then when the tears start, he hugs him. I feel awkward, just watching this exchange happen before me, so I distract myself by drinking from the half-full coffee cup before me. "Oh, it's gone cold," I say, really just to me. But as soon as I put the cup down, a worker from the train appears and refills it, and it's steaming again. "...Thank you," I tell him. Being waited on is a new experience, to say the least.

"I'm sorry about that," Mint says to me as the hug breaks. "I'm trying to be braver, like you."

Hearing that, I guess my efforts have paid off. If I have tricked the Capitol commentators as well as Mint into believing I am not scared, then maybe I can fool myself also. So I just smile and reply, "I know you can do it."

Perrin's face suddenly becomes unusually austere, an expression I have never seen him wear before. "Are you two serious about winning the Games?" he asks.

It's a strange question. "What do you mean?" I venture.

"Are you prepared to suffer?"

Perrin asks with such sincerity that I almost want to laugh, but I know that he's right. Suffering is part of what it means to be a tribute. "I guess so," I respond quietly.

"It's not like we have a choice," Mint says.

"Perhaps not, but you do have some control over your fate," Perrin points out. "You have to be smart. That is what will ultimately serve you the most." His voice has an urgency that I didn't expect.

Valeria was right about Perrin; there is much more to him than he reveals. Still, I don't know if I feel completely confident with him yet. There's no way to tell if or when he'll retreat into his old self - the quiet, anxious Perrin Marks I'm used to. However, he is Mint's and my mentor, and if I am to have any chance at all of winning the Games, I will need his help.


	4. Chapter 4

Arriving in the Capitol is... strange. At first I'm sitting in my room onboard the train and everything is unremarkable; the next moment, everything is plunged into darkness. For a moment, I'm terrified, but I manage to snap out of it and use my head. I need to practice doing this for when I'm in the arena. Some lights come on inside the train, and using them as my guide, I travel back to the living room compartment where we watched the footage of the other tributes being chosen, and find only Valeria.

"Don't worry," she says, which sounds vaguely odd coming from her. "We haven't had a technical malfunction. We're going through the tunnel that leads to the Capitol. It'll only be dark for a few more moments."

"Oh." So that explains it.

"I'm going to go get Perrin and Mint. It'll make the best impression if we're all together."

For a moment I wonder what Valeria's talking about, but then it's clear that she's alluding to potential sponsors who will be waiting outside the station for our arrival. The Capitol citizens will want to see us and size us up, and if one of us is lucky enough, we'll be gifted with some crucial item during the Games. I try to guess if sponsors would prefer Mint or me, but it's hard to tell. If they're going by attractiveness, well, neither one of us is particularly breathtaking. Though I think Mint could use his short stature and large eyes to try to appear cute. I don't think I'd have much of a chance of relying on my looks for sponsorship: my hair is thin and red-blonde and my eyes are brown, but neither is in any way memorable. I also have to speculate about whether sponsors will prefer Mint's visible pain and weakness or my stoicism. Do they want someone they can pity, or someone who appears reliable?

I don't come to any conclusions, and there's no more time to think about it because the next thing I know, I am flanked by Perrin and Mint, and we are staring out the windows at the view of the Capitol. The buildings unlike the ones I'm familiar with in every way: they are tall, shiny, and colorful. I guess I could call them beautiful, but as I look at them, I am afraid. As I get closer to this city, I am closer to the Games, and closer to my death.

When we get inside the Capitol, we're greeted with cheers. The citizens have gathered around the station, looking at us. What has District 10 brought for them this year? They already know us by name. I can hear shouts of "Hello, Linka!" and "Hi, Mint!" and even one or two greetings for Perrin. What should I do? I see Mint waving, so I join in. I even succeed in stretching my lips into a smile. Oh, yes! I'm so delighted to be here! I can't help but laugh at how ludicrous it all is. Now I'm smiling for real, at least.

The first place Mint and I are brought to is called the Remake Center. If it were up to me, I would have called it the Pain Center, because every process that has been done to "remake" me so far has been painful. First, I was told to strip naked, which I thought was some sort of Capitol joke. Once I realized that the beauticians were serious, I knew it was all downhill from there. I guess it was a little easier to take seeing that the room was filled with other nude tributes. We were all in separate cubicles so you couldn't make out the details of anyone else, fortunately, but I could hear the sounds of scrubbing as all of us were cleaned. When I bathe at home, I use a tub and a soft sponge. The one they use here is the roughest I've ever felt. One of the beauticians, a short man with green hair named Camber, explained to me that it removes not only surface grime, but also dirt beneath the surface, along with dead skin and calluses. I told him that I sincerely doubt there's a single person in District 10 without calluses, and he chuckled. Well, at least the beauticians like me.

Still, they haven't gone very easy with the waxing. When someone at home uses the word "wax," they're referring to beeswax. Apparently, in the Capitol, wax is something sticky and hot that you use to violently and painfully remove people's body hair. Everything below my neck has to go, and along with the sound of rips as wax strips are removed, I can hear yelps from the other tributes as we all become bizarrely smooth. When the procedure is over, my body looks like an 8-year-old's to me, but the beauticians are pleased. "Not bad," says Tatiana, who has purple tattoos of hearts on each cheek.

I decide to test out another joke. "Sure," I reply. "Torture isn't bad at all." The beauticians laugh at this, too, and I wonder if maybe I can try to use humor to gain sponsors.

Mercifully, the next thing they do to me doesn't hurt. Working on each of my hands simultaneously, Camber and Tatiana trim and then file my nails to make them smooth and gleaming. Then they have me stand up and they look me over. Tatiana comes around with tweezers and pulls out one or two remaining stray hairs, then she nods at Camber and he hands me a robe.

They take me to a different part of the building where there are actually separate rooms, and they direct me into one. The room reminds me of the one in the Justice Building: it has pretty wallpaper, two comfortable-looking chairs, and a short glass table in between. I'm instructed to sit down and wait for my stylist. Then Camber and Tatiana leave me alone.

I'm surprised at how quickly my stylist arrives; within five minutes, a woman waltzes in and flashes me a huge grin. The first thing I notice about her is the color blue. Her skin has been dyed a pale shade of the color and her hair, lips, and entire outfit are blue, too. The only other colors present are her strong gold eye shadow, the brown clipboard under her arm, and the white mug in her hand. With her free hand, the woman reaches out to shake my hand, and when I give her mine, she pumps it enthusiastically. "I was so excited to meet you. My first female tribute! They've had me working on the males for what seems like _forever_, and I was so desperate to have a girl client already. I want to do some dresses, you know?" She smiles, showing all of her teeth. "My gosh, I didn't even introduce myself. What's the matter with me? My name is Quinette."

"I'm-" I start.

"Linka Nolan. Oh, I already know. I'm on top of things, Linka, believe that." Quinette sets her clipboard and mug down on the table and puts her hands on her hips. "OK, I need to take a look at what we're working with. Take off that robe for a minute and stand up."

I do not argue. I remove the robe and stand with my arms at my sides, so Quinette can see everything. She walks around me slowly, rubbing her chin. When she's finished, she picks her clipboard back up and writes on it. I put the robe back on and hope I will not have to take it off again soon.

"OK, so I'm going to be blunt with you for a moment. Are you alright with that?"

"Well, nothing you tell me is going to be more painful than getting waxed from the neck down," I say, and Quinette laughs. I wasn't even trying to be funny that time. Maybe I am getting good at this.

"So here are the areas that aren't so satisfactory. You have a small chest, for one. It's not _terribly_ small, but we are going to have to work around that. Padding in your dresses will do it. At least it's better than when they're too big. Anyway, your eyes are also a little closer together than I'd like. That's something we can fix with makeup. So I've made a note to talk to your makeup artist about it."

I just stare at Quinette as she derides my appearance. I guess it's her job to notice the flaws that Tatiana and Camber can't correct, and make me look as perfect as I can.

"On the plus side, your hair is a nice color and a good length. It's dry and limp right now, but that's also easily taken care of. You also have long legs, so I definitely plan to put you in some short skirts that show them off." At that point, there's a knock at the door and when Quinette opens it, an attendant dressed like the ones on the train walks in with a tray and sets it on the table, then immediately leaves. "Oh, dinner's here. Very nice. We'll eat and chat."

The main part of the meal is beef, something my parents can rarely afford. The meat is very tender, and I wonder if maybe it's actually veal, which isn't even sold in District 10 because it's a luxury only the Capitol deserves. It's served with thinly sliced potatoes covered in a tangy sauce, and there's more of the strange puffy bread to go with. Valeria must have remembered my comment and passed it along to someone, because there's more Turkish delight for dessert. This small kind thing she has done for me means a lot.

"Let's talk Opening Ceremony," Quinette announces. "Tell me what you're thinking."

District 10 does not have a reputation for particularly great outfits at the Hunger Games ceremonies. I don't mention this to Quinette, seeing as she must have worked on some of them, but it's the truth. Since we're supposed to represent our district's industry via our clothing, District 10's tributes can often end up wearing rancher's outfits, sometimes complete with the wide-brimmed hats. Of course, their clothing is much cleaner and more expensive than anything that anyone in District 10 actually owns, and the outfits never draw much response from the crowd. I suppose things could be worse, though. Every year, it seems some district's tributes are bound to be sent out close to nude, but 10 has been spared from that treatment. "Not naked," I tell Quinette.

She shakes her head. "Certainly not. This is my chance to show off my sartorial skills, after all."

"And... I'd like to avoid the hats, if possible," I offer.

Quinette nods and then rests her chin in her palm and narrows her eyes, as if she's thinking hard. She taps her pen against her cheek for a minute, then suddenly her face lights up. "Linka, what kind of farm do you live on? What do you raise there?"

"Chickens."

"Chickens... yes, yes, I see it! Feathers!" She grabs her clipboard and starts sketching wildly. "This is going to be good." A few minutes of impassioned drawing, and then Quinette hands me the clipboard.

I peer at what she's done. The sketch shows me - I guess - in a long white dress. The whole thing is covered with little ovals, which I realize are feathers. I'm not quite sure what to say about it going from the drawing alone, but at least it's not nudity, and I won't look like an elaborately decorated rancher. "And how about Mint?" I ask. "My district partner."

"Yes, it's going to be feathers all around this year," Quinette says enthusiastically. I'm not sure if that was the answer to my question or if she's just musing about how excited she is to dress me in feathers.

I'm not so sure, honestly. Yes, it's different, but that doesn't necessarily mean people will like it. On the other hand, it is much prettier and more elegant than anything I've seen on the District 10 tributes before, and the Capitol people do seem to appreciate beauty, or at least their peculiar sense of it. So maybe this will go over well. There's nothing left to do but wait and see.


	5. Chapter 5

As the dress is carefully put on me, I immediately notice the padding in the chest, which I'm not sure is comfortable, but there's no point arguing about it. And yet when I get a good look at the dress overall, I'm seriously impressed. I have no idea how this was assembled in a matter of hours, the work looks so intricate. Just like Quinette's sketch, the dress is floor-length and white, and covered from top to bottom in feathers. I can immediately tell that these obviously aren't pliable chicken feathers, because they're much longer and firmer. I guess they must have come from a swan, assuming they're even real.

I'm also amazed by what has happened to my hair. Somehow, it has been transformed from a collection of thin strands into shiny, bouncy waves. To go along with that, there's a headband too, with big wing-like shapes that hold my hair back. The makeup, I'm less sure about: the false eyelashes Quinette insisted on make my lids feel heavy, the way they do when I'm exhausted. But they do help to make my eyes appear further apart, which I recall was the goal. There's also some silvery stuff on my lower eyelids, and I keep thinking that it'll get inside them every time I blink, but it never does.

After everything about my look for the night is in order, Quinette brings me to meet up with Mint and his stylist, a thin and tall man with spiky red hair named Mars. As expected, Mint's outfit matches mine: he's wearing a white suit covered with feathers. Somehow, his tangly hair has been smoothed and brushed back, and I wonder how long it's been since the last time Mint's forehead was uncovered. Also, they've done something to his eyebrows - they're a little thinner and have a more defined shape. I guess they thought my brows were fine the way they were. As for makeup, they haven't given Mint the eyelashes they put on me, but he has the silver liner on his lower lid, too. I can't help but notice that Mint's shoes are higher than mine, but I gather that this was done so we'd appear closer to the same height. Fair enough, I guess.

It's time to go to the bottom floor of the Remake Center. From here, we board the District 10 chariot, which is pulled by horses that Quinette explains are called Piebald. They're mostly white with some black patches, and I realize they were chosen for our district because of their resemblance to cows, the livestock we're most well-known for raising. The chariots themselves are all identical, gold-colored and emblazoned with each of our district numbers.

"From here you'll ride to the City Center," Quinette informs us.

"It'll be about half an hour, so just smile and wave to the audience," Mars adds.

"Make sure eyes are on you at all times."

And then we're off. The horses trot slowly as we move into sequential order. This is the only time I think I'd ever say this, but for once I am glad I am not from District 1. Ordinarily these tributes are dressed in gorgeous, sparkling garments; crowns and tiaras are typical, too, and the crowd is always fascinated. But this year, the stylists have forgone that practice and the tributes are both wearing see-through robes with patches of jewels that cover their, ahem, personal areas. I try not to look at their bodies, but I can't help but steal a glance; not a rib shows through on either one.

Then again, they're not as big as the District 2 tributes, who are muscular and imperious in their metal-themed wardrobe. It's no wonder they appear the most confident; their district has had the most winners in the history of the Games.

As my chariot starts moving, I remember the advice Mars gave. Smile and wave to the audience. That's not so hard. Mint looks nervous; I can tell he doesn't like the attention of a crowd. "Try to keep your head up and smile," I say, but I'm not going to force him if he can't do it. I know that my own image has to be my number one priority. Within a few minutes, we're out in the street, and there are huge mobs of Capitol citizens on either sides of us. I do what I'm supposed to, grinning and waving. When that doesn't elicit a particularly passionate response, I try something else: I wink and smile with my mouth open, and people like that a lot better. It's like I'm flirting with all of them at once. Several audience members throw roses at me, and I catch one and place it in my hair, which gets a few cheers of my name. I've done the best I can.

District 12's chariot pulls into the City Circle, and the main part of the ceremony is over. The president appears on a balcony above us and looks down at this year's tributes with a smile. "Welcome," he says, his voice booming. "To the Capitol. May the odds be ever in your favor, and... happy Hunger Games, everyone!" The Capitol citizens clap, but predictably, none of the tributes do.

After that, we head into the Training Center. This is where we will live and prepare until the Games begin. I start getting off the chariot when Quinette appears and helps me down. "That was good," she says. "I liked the rose in the hair thing, that was pretty nice. And the wink? Classic. I'm thinking maybe we should play that up for your next look. Something floral, you know? What kind of flowers do you have in District 10?"

"Daisies... bluebells," I answer, dazed. Everything is moving quickly as I'm being helped out of the chariot and then led elsewhere. The next thing I know, I'm in an elevator with Mint and a few other tributes. There's also an attendant there, who tells us to get out at the floor with the same number as our district. No one says a word, and just follows his direction. It becomes clear that we've simply been divided in half, because the first floor the elevator stops at is 6. One by one, the other tributes leave, until the elevator reaches the tenth floor, where Mint and I get out.

The person who is there to greet us is none other than Valeria Manderbell. I wonder if she's been here the entire time, watching the ceremony on television, or if she was in the audience at one point but then came here. Perrin is here, too, sitting at a table. He smiles sheepishly and waves when we arrive, where as Valeria prefers to be a little more direct.

"Hello, you two," she says as we walk in. "Well, as you know, this will be your new home for a while. My favorite thing about representing District 10 is getting to be so high up in the Training Center. It sort of makes the whole experience more exciting, don't you think?" Valeria shrugs. "Anyway, let's talk about your performance tonight. Linka, that was good. You engaged with the audience. Mint, that's not really what I was hoping for, but I think you can work the shy angle. So I'll accept it. In any case, you two should both remember that first impressions count a great deal, so whatever persona you've presented tonight - stick with it. Your stylists and I will be working on your image. Perrin and your trainers will be working on your strategies. So that is generally how things will go around here."

The benefit of having Valeria as my escort is that she is incredibly on top of things. She's not going to hold my hand if I start to cry, but she will be able to direct me to the best place to get tissues. And I genuinely do believe she's going to do her best to help me attract the sponsors I will need.

Valeria shows me to my room, but once I'm there, she just tells me to be in the dining room in an hour. Are we having a second dinner? At home, I didn't always get to have a first one. I look around my room here and guess that it's at least six times bigger than the one I live in at home, not to mention that it's filled with strange but incredible contraptions. The shower has at least 25 different settings, including ones for drying you off afterward. I choose the most gentle-sounding ones, and when I come out I'm free of makeup. The drying takes all the pretty waviness out of my hair, but it still looks a lot better than it did when I first arrived here. I certainly don't want to change back into the dress I wore for the ceremony, so I go to the closet. A little computer helps you see the options and plan an outfit, and then it delivers the clothes to you. Once I'm clean and redressed, it's about time to head to the dining room.

Mint is there already, and unexpectedly, so are Quinette and Mars. There's no huge meal laid out on the table, just a wide variety of desserts: cookies, chocolates, cake, and fruit. At home the dessert of choice was pie, but since the ingredients to make it could rarely be spared, the only time we ever ate it was on my birthday. There are also mugs set around the table, and when I take a sip from mine, I find it's full of warm milk spiced with cinnamon. The servers here are different from the ones I've seen earlier; they wear colorless tunics and don't say a word. When I start to cut myself a slice of cake, one of them hurries in and does it for me. I thank her, but she only nods and returns to where she was standing. I take a small bite of the cake; its flavor is rich and buttery and quite sweet, too.

"You two looked nice," Perrin says, surprising me.

"I agree," Valeria adds. "Quinette and Mars have outdone themselves."

The stylists glance at each other and smile.

After we finish, we move to another room, where there's an enormous leather couch and an equally enormous television. We watch the footage of tonight's ceremony, and it's interesting to see the action from a different point of view. I can see everyone's outfits more closely this way, and also the crowd's reaction. The unfortunate District 1 tributes in their barely-there outfits are obviously forcing their smiles, whereas the expressions on the pair from District 2 could be called evil. The outfits from districts 8 and 11 stand out to me: 8 makes textiles, and their tributes have been fitted with clothing that shows off many different fabrics in multicolored patches. The result isn't exactly "beautiful," per se, but it's hard not to notice. 11 specializes in agriculture, and their tributes wear gorgeous floral robes with a wide variety of different blooms all over the cloth. I can't say with total assurance that Mint and my outfits are the best, but seeing them in the video certainly reaffirms their beauty in my mind. I notice there's a close up on my face as I wink and place the flower in my hair, and I can't help but laugh at how silly I look. Is it obvious to everyone else how hard I'm trying?

Before Mint and I retire for the night, Perrin reminds us that training starts tomorrow. It makes me nervous to think about, but I'm exhausted from the day's tribulations, and the bed in my massive room is so soft and warm. The last thing I see before I fall asleep is my feathery dress, still hanging next to the closet where I left it.


End file.
